


catch my pieces as they come apart

by jennycaakes



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Year Three, minimal angst, or well their year three, technically year two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: Five times Ransom and Holster get interrupted, three times they get caught, and the one time celebrate without distractions.(5+3+1)





	catch my pieces as they come apart

**Author's Note:**

> so I started writing this fic because I spiraled into the check please fandom faster than ever before and 1) i wanted holsom to make out A LOT and 2) i wanted to try and write a lil bit of all the other characters too. so! i hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> let's just pretend that there are lots of fines for being caught doing sex stuff, which is probably true but never actually said i don't think? just roll with it

**_Shitty +1_ **

The first time they make out, they’re super drunk.

It’s also the first time they almost get caught.

It’s at a kegster, of course, and Ransom has no fucking idea why he decided to try and match Holster for shots. But Holster scored tonight, which means he’s going hard, and Ransom’s not about to let his best bro go at it alone.

So he matches him for shots, Holster getting louder (if possible) as the night goes on, and Ransom sticks to his side as they revel in the win of their team. They’re all arms and hands that night. Constantly brushing fingers when they pass drinks. Foreheads pressed to one another’s shoulders. Arms around waists. It’s the best kind of celly, casual intimacy with his best friend, and Ransom is totally fucking drunk.

They end up in the basement of all places, checking for the Hockey Bylaws because Holster swears there’s something in there about something that must’ve been relevant at one point in their conversation. But Ransom can’t even remember now, and even with Holster ducked behind the water heater to try and read them, he doesn’t think either of them have any recollection of what it is they’re supposed to be checking for.

It’s the first time they’re alone since the win that night.

“Holster,” Ransom says, and Holster hits his head on a pipe as he startles at his name. “Your goal tonight, man.”

Holster emerges from behind the water heater with a grin, rubbing where he must’ve bumped his head. “Hell yeah, Rans,” he says. “It’s only cuz I had you.”

Ransom rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop grinning. “Don’t even start, bro, that shot was all you.”

“Cuz I knew you were gonna keep it clear for me!” Holster stumbles out toward Ransom and Rans reaches up reflexively to keep him from falling. Holster places his hands on Ransom’s shoulders, heavy and firm, and squeezes. “I trust you more than I trust myself, Ransom. That goal was practically your doing.”

“Jesus Holtzy,” Ransom says with a laugh. “Take your fucking credit!”

“No way. Not unless we can share it.”

Ransom laughs again. “You’re so drunk, bro.”

Holster grins, but there’s something soft in it. “Even sober I’m the president of your fan club, Ransy.”

“I don’t have a fan club.”

“Yes you do. I just told you I’m the president.”

Ransom can’t stop himself from laughing another time but that feels soft, too. He’s proud of Holster and all of his hard work and his skill and his quick thinking that helped them earn their win for the night and he wants Holster to _know_ that.

“I’m serious though, Holster,” Ransom says quietly. “I’m really proud of you, you know?”

Something in Ransom’s voice catches and the mood shifts in an instant. Holster’s smile slips and his eyes drop, lingering on Ransom’s mouth. “Yeah, bro, I know.” His eyes shift up again. “And I’m really grateful for that. And for you. Always for you.”

It’s got to be a combination of everything that has the both of them suddenly leaning in. The victory. The alcohol. The joy of friendship. Ransom feels a little hazy and more than a little warm and then they’re kissing.

And it is so fucking good.

Their first kiss is sloppy and wet, barely lips against lips, and yet still so _much_ that Ransom’s heart pounding is practically the only thing he can think about. He has to do this in stages. He feels Holster steady himself against him, Holster’s big hands firm on Ransom’s shoulders. And he feels Holster’s scruff brush against his own skin. And when Holster steps in, deepening the kiss, it shifts into something better. Still wet but still so fucking good, even for being drunk. Holster swipes his tongue over Ransom’s bottom lip and Ransom groans, reaching up to cup Holster’s cheeks between his hands.

“Holtzy,” he murmurs.

Holster’s eyes fly open. “Shit Rans. This okay?” Ransom answers him with another kiss and Holster grins into it. “Enthusiastic consent, dude,” Holster says with a laugh. “Into it.”

“Me too,” Ransom admits in a breath.

Holster’s laughing into the next kiss which is just so _them_ that Ransom laughs too and it makes it that much better. They’re somehow both exploratory kisses and confident kisses at the same time. Holster knows what he’s doing and his big hands are firm as they slip from Ransom’s shoulders to grip his waist and all of this is so unexpected and so hot that Ransom takes two steps to push them backwards against the wall.

The game is completely forgotten as he slips his hand into Holster’s soft golden hair, his fingers teasing at the base of Holster’s neck. Ransom’s totally okay with the fact that they forgot why they were coming down here because this is so much better than Hockey Bylaws or beer pong or tub juice. Desire flashes hot inside of him and he wants to touch Holster anywhere he can get his hands on him. His cheeks, his shoulders, his arms, his waist. It’s sudden and all-consuming, like these thoughts have always been here but now they’ve finally pushed their way through the floodgates. He wants to kiss his way up Holster’s toned chest. He wants to suck hard against Holster’s neck until it leaves a mark. Ransom wants to grip Holster’s hips until they bruise and kiss him like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him alive. Getting ahead of himself he grinds forward, unthinking, and the moan that escapes Holster’s lips is so fucking filthy that Ransom bucks forward again in response.

“Fuck, Rans, _yeah._ ”

“Yeah?”

Holster nods desperately, lips outstretched for Ransom’s.

There’s no time to think about how they’ve never done _this_ before, and the truth of it is that this feels so natural it doesn’t even matter. Ransom knows there’s probably a sexual identity crisis down there somewhere, but at the same time, it’s always been Holster. It was always going to be Holster.

Unless.

“Wait,” Ransom murmurs, and just like Shitty taught them Holster gives Ransom all of the room he needs. “Bro, we’re drunk?” he wonders.

“A little,” Holster says. His face shutters and Ransom feels his throat tighten. “Is that...” he trails off. The world seems to shift beneath him, as though reminding Ransom of the alcohol. He can still taste it in his mouth but he can taste Holster too, and the latter is maybe more intoxicating. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Holster asks carefully.

“I don’t know,” Ransom admits. This was all very unexpected. He just wanted Holster to know how much he fucking loves and supports him. He didn’t expect to be making out against the goddamn wall. He didn’t expect it to be so _good_. The alcohol, that could make it complicated. “You’re my best friend.”

Holster’s face fills with a smile, his blue eyes shockingly clear and bright. “Dude and you’re mine,” he says.

“I don’t want this to ruin that.”

Holster nods slowly, still smiling, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Man, what if this just makes it better?” Holster asks.

Ransom grins.

They settle back into one another easily, hands gliding over their bodies as they try to tug one another closer as they kiss. Ransom doesn’t know when he turned into such a sap but he’d really be okay to do this all night. But he can also feel Holster hard against him and Ransom wants to hear Holster moan again, so he palms Holster through his shorts and swallows the choked sound that Holster makes in response. Ransom’s going to be getting off to that noise for the rest of his goddamn life.

“Why the fuck is the attic so fucking far away?” Holster whines.

They’re about to make a run for it anyway when the door to the basement is suddenly thrown open. Loud music bursts their bubble of silence and it’s Beyonce which means that Bitty definitely got ahold of the aux. Ransom has half a mind to turn, pull away from Holster, just in time to see Shitty stumble down the stairs.

“Holster! Ransom!”

Ransom’s arms hang limp at his side. Holster drops his head backwards against the wall with a thunk. They’re apart, now, and Ransom’s fingers are twitchy.

“Sup, Shits?” Ransom asks.

“We’ve been looking for you two!” Shitty calls. He doesn’t come all the way down the stairs, using the railing as means to keep himself standing. “Bitty wants a team photo.”

“We’ll be up,” Holster says.

“ _Dudes_ I cannot stand,” Shitty says. “Need you now.”

Ransom and Holster exchange a glance but it doesn’t say enough. Ransom wants words. He’s already got so much going on his life (delicate coral reef, remember?) that he can’t enter this undefined relationship space with Holster. If this was just a drunken make-out, that’s fine. Probably. But Ransom wants to know for sure so he can sort out his thoughts and figure out how to proceed.

“Gotchu, Shitty,” Holster says, walking past Ransom to get to their friend. But as he passes, his fingers brush Ransom’s. “Up we go!”

“The hell were you two doing down here all alone anyway? Makin’ out?”

Holster slings his arm around Shitty’s waist to help him up the stairs. “Chyeah, bro,” he answers with a laugh.

But Shitty’s drunk, he doesn’t _know_ and he kisses his friends all the time, so his response of “Hell yeah!” is most likely just in good spirits.

Ransom lumbers up the stairs behind them, also using the railing to help himself along the way. The kegester is in full swing when they return and it’s a stark contrast to the basement. Ransom’s skin feels hot and every time he and Holster make eye-contact Ransom feels his face burn.

Upstairs there’s more cheering for Holster and his shot, more beer pong, more tub juice. They take photos for Bitty because no one can deny Bitty a thing. The two of them still stick by one another’s sides but something’s different now and they both know it.

And then finally, it’s time for bed. The attic is still incredibly far away but he and Holster take the stairs two at a time.

And then they’re alone. In their room. With no distractions.

They’re both quiet.

“So this fan club of mine,” Ransom says, leaning back against the door. “How many members does it have?”

Holster’s nervous expression fades at Ransom’s question, quickly replaced with a grin. “I can’t tell you bro, your ego will inflate.”

“You should tell me anyway. It’s already out of control, Holtzy.”

“Why’s that?”

“You were so hot for me, man.”

Holster’s face floods with color but his grin just widens. His teeth are so big and white and beautiful and he steps toward Ransom slowly, intentionally.

“That’s not a past tense kinda statement, Rans.”

“No?”

“Nah.”

Ransom lets himself grin too. “‘Swawesome.”

And then they’re making out again, and yeah. This is ‘swawesome.

That night, though, they climb into their own beds. Boundaries are a good thing to start with and, while they still haven’t really defined _this_ , Ransom isn’t worried. They decide not to tell the guys because they themselves aren’t sure what it is, and it’s not like they’re going to be all that different in public anyway.

“Besides,” Ransom murmurs at one point. “We would owe the sin bin a fuck ton of money in fines. We touched each other all the time before and it meant nothing, but now abso-fucking-lutely everything would be called.”

Holster and Ransom have always been all over each other. It’s who they are. But with the title of _relationship_ , they’d get the fines.

“They’ve been chirping us since freshman year, they can wait,” Holster agrees with a grin. He hasn’t really stopped grinning since they made it to the attic, and Holster’s face is _crafted_ for smiling. “We can have this for a bit. Just us. While we figure it out.”

Ransom’s nearly asleep, still buzzed and all kinds of warm, when he remembers something.

“Hey,” Rans says gently. “Holtzy.”

“Rans?”

“Don’t forget to take your contacts out.”

Holster laughs.

* * *

**_Chowder +2_ **

Holster’s always liked making out in general. He likes feeling someone’s hands against his skin. He likes lips against lips. He likes breathing another person in.

And he likes Ransom, so fucking much, so making out with him is probably the best thing that Holster’s ever gotten to do.

There’s some other good stuff too. Like the all encompassing relief that is just with him at all times, that his best friend feels the same, that Ransom wants to keep doing this with him and no one else. And also the sex. The sex is great. But even just making out has Holster feeling like he’s a new person. Every time Ransom smiles against Holster’s mouth, Holster feels it in his chest. It’s new and exciting and perfect and Holster is so fucking happy.

“Really, Ransy,” Holster murmurs one afternoon, a few weeks after the kegster. “It’s good, that’s really good.”

They’re the only ones in the Haus and they’re being idiots in so many ways. Like, they really should not be grinding like this in the living room. That’s their first mistake. Someone’s going to come home and catch them and they really do not have enough money for the fines this would earn them right now. And secondly, they really should just not be on this couch at all. It’s way dirty.

But their room setup always has one of them hitting their head on Ransom’s bunk and all of this open space is just glorious. Ransom’s got Holster pinned to the couch now, which isn’t working super well seeing as they’re both giant, but Holster’s into it. He’s rocking his hips against Holster’s and sucking a line down his throat and God he’s totally going to get off.

“We still good?” Ransom asks, but it’s more of a breath. He’s still somewhere by Holster’s throat. “We’re in the living room, Holtzy.”

“We’re good,” Holster says.

“You sure? Anyone could--”

“I know but--Rans, _please_ ,” Holster rasps, sounding so fucking desperate.

He feels Ransom smirk against his skin. “You like it,” he says, realizing.

The risk of being walked in on. It’s kinda awesome.

“Fuck,” Holster moans. His eyes fall shut and his back arches and he feels somehow both very far from this moment and also like this is the only thing that has ever happened to him that has mattered. “You make me feel so hot.”

Ransom’s teeth graze Holster’s throat. “Good. You are.”

Holster tries not to whine. _“Dude_ you’re trying to kill me _._ I’m dying. I can feel it. Imminent death, Ransy.”

Ransom chuckles against Holster’s skin before he pulls back so he can look him in the eyes. “Take your shirt off,” Ransom murmurs.

‘Swawesome.

Ransom should be studying for his bio test and Holster should be working on his essay that’s due tomorrow but fuck it, this is so much better. He sets his glasses on nearby and drags his shirt up slowly and Ransom slides down so he can kiss across Holster’s chest. Holster was not exaggerating when he said that he felt like he was dying. His heart is pounding and his skin is on fire and when Rans mouths his way over Holster’s nipple he feels like he’s going to be reduced to ash.

Holster has no problem literally chirping a guy two times bigger than him and dealing with getting checked by him later no biggie, but Ransom is unraveling him and this is honestly the way he wants to go.

“Holster,” Ransom says softly, but his voice is different. Holster’s eyes snap open. “I, uh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“No, it’s--” Ransom leans back a bit. “I want to tell my parents about this.”

This is a weird time for this conversation, but Holster’s into it. He knows his face lights up when he asks, “Yeah?” because color rises to Ransom’s cheeks and he ducks his head, like even just looking at Holster makes him feel warm.

“They already love you,” Ransom says. “So I mean I figure I’ve got some okay chances with the into dudes thing.”

Holster laughs. “Bro!”

Ransom leans back in to steal a kiss. He sounds stressed when he asks, “That okay?”

“Hell yeah, Ransy!” Holster’s hands fly up to cup Ransom’s cheeks so he can kiss him again. “I’ll tell mine too.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Already drafting the script in my head,” Holster cuts him off.

This thing with them, though, it’s still new. Not much has really changed, seeing as they’re still fucking obsessed with each other in public. Arms over shoulders and sitting on one another’s laps. Normal shit. But now there’s the kissing and the sex and the quiet, epic intimacy that makes Holster think of a future he hadn’t realized he wanted so badly. A future with Ransom.

It’s just… they haven’t _actually_ defined it.

Ransom’s still figuring out the identity he wants to claim. (“No rush, Rans,” Holster had said one night as they talked it through. “Labels are hard and you don’t need them unless you want them.”) And they’re together, but neither of them have used the word _boyfriend_ yet. In fact, they haven’t even told the team.

Ransom, unaware of Holster’s thought spiral, just grins, kissing him again. It’s a surprisingly soft kiss, one that feels familiar and hopeful, and that makes Holster pause. He needs to say something. “Are you sure?” Holster manages between kisses.

“Figured I’d start with my sisters,” Ransom says, shrugging, while the sudden onset of nerves settle in Holster’s stomach. “See how that goes. Then talk to them.”

“But I mean…” Holster trails off, nervous for another second, before remembering this is _Ransom_. He can talk to Rans about absolutely anything. “About me _,”_ he settles with.

They’ve had DTR conversations since the kegster but they were pretty low-key. This is real. This is a serious, spoken, legitimate commitment.

“My guy,” Ransom says, pulling back. “You’ve seen me at my worst, covered in vomit, annoyingly desperate, after some brutal fucking losses, you name it. But Holster you still--” Ransom’s eyes light up. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

But that begs the question-- “The guys?” he asks. Holster doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden. The seriousness of the situation, maybe, or the implication that they’re trying to hide.

Ransom seems to see it on his face. “I thought we weren’t telling them because of fines?” he asks, but even as he says it, it’s clear fines are starting to feel like a week excuse. “I don’t--I wouldn’t care if they knew, Holster. In fact I mean--I’d like to tell them too.”

“No, I know, it just feels--”

“Like a secret, yeah.” Ransom cups Holster’s cheek, tipping his chin back. “But it’s not a secret how much we mean to each other. I mean, come on. People aren’t blind.” Still, Holster’s stomach is in knots. “Is it too much?” Ransom asks. “Telling them. The team, or… our parents.”

“No,” Holster pushes again. Because the second he’d heard it, he was excited about it. Eager to tell his own parents about his best friend who fit perfectly as a boyfriend. To eventually tell all of their friends. But in the silence that follows Holster is realizing how big a declaration of _them_ would be. “Maybe.”

“Talk to me. You think my parents won’t be cool about it? Or your parents? When you told them you were bi you said they reacted okay, right? And the guys--they won’t care. I mean--Shitty’ll throw a fucking kegster, but you know they’ll be happy for us.” Ransom’s rambling now and Holster can’t seem to find a time to cut in. “Even Jack--he can get intense but we’re _us_ , Holtzy and everyone knows that you and me are--”

“We’re it, man,” Holster cuts him off, needing him to understand. “We’re fucking endgame.”

It takes Ransom a moment to dig into the archives of his knowledge on that fanfic that they’d read all that time ago. Ransom’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

Holster knows it, and it’s not that he’s afraid, but the idea of someone being with _that final person_ is pretty hard to grasp. And sure, maybe someone will come along, or something will happen that splits them up, but Holster can genuinely see Ransom in his life for the rest of it. Even before the kissing. They’re best fucking bros. Ride or die, through thick and thin, _forever bros_ who would’ve been in one another’s lives in some way shape or form anyway.

So this move of forever friends into current boyfriends shifted the whole future just a bit.

And it isn’t a bad future, or a scary one. It’s just a lot to handle all at once.

“Maybe I need to sit with it,” Holster finally says. “Not because of you, or anything like that, just--”

“No, maybe I do too,” Ransom agrees.

This is still new, this _them_ thing, and there’s still time for it to change. Maybe back into what it was before, maybe into something better.

“Damn, no arguments?” Holster asks.

“At the fic reference?” Ransom returns. “Or the we’re gonna be fucking awesome husbands reference? Am I supposed to be arguing about something? Let’s not start to nag one another now, eh?”

Holster grins. Comfort rushes over him and he feels so relieved and so understood all at once. Hell yeah, Ransom is his fucking endgame!

“I meant about waiting.”

“Nah. Not for now. I want us to be sure. We should be sure.”

“Cool.” Holster licks his lips. “Who said anything about being husbands?” Holster murmurs as he reaches up, tugging Ransom’s shirt off of his body.

“Well we’ll have to get married eventually,” Ransom tells him. Holster drags his hands up Ransom’s sides slowly. “That’s what endgame is all about. Total commitment.”

“You’re talking about total commitment and marriage and still haven’t called me your boyfriend,” Holster points out.

He needs to get that last little but out onto the table while they’re in the middle of it.

Ransom grins. “Bro-friend?”

“Rans.”

“Holtzy,” Rans whispers. “Obviously you’re my boyfriend.”

He says it so easily and so _sure_ that Holster feels dumb for having any doubts at all. “You think I can’t commit without marriage?” Holster asks, changing the subject to try and shift Ransom’s attention away from Holster’s obvious blush. “No follow-through?”

“You’ve got great follow-through, babe.” Ransom nips at him. “But marriage doesn’t have to be the lock and key that Lardo and Shits are always making it out to be in their rants,” he says. “Isn’t there something in the idea of choosing someone publically for forever?” Which makes Holster thinks that Rans _wants_ that. Marriage. And not because he’s worried about follow-through, but because of the choice to be together.

Flushed at the thought of Ransom wanting that with _him_ , Holster starts up again. “I’m still not convinced that I--”

“Bitty would have a fit if we didn’t,” Rans stops him.

Holster laughs, finally caving. “God, we could even have him help plan.”

“Mm…” Ransom reaches for the string of Holster’s sweatpants, smiling that he’s playing along. They work together to push his pants down, getting caught on Holster’s ankles, until they can add them to the pile of clothes on the floor. “He’s probably already got Pinterest boards, dude.” His hand slides down, firm against Holster’s dick through his boxers, and Holster’s hips jump forward. “A whole wedding playlist.”

“What kind of dirty talk is this?” Holster groans.

To hear _Ransom_ easily call him his boyfriend to then slip into casually talking about a wedding? Their wedding? This is too much for a weekday afternoon. His hips roll forward again and Ransom grins.

“The domestic kind. You into it?”

There’s something so innocuous about it that makes Holster hot. “Maybe.”

“We’d get our own place,” Rans carries on, voice rough and low. “No bunk beds in sight. A huge mattress with a sturdy bed frame.” Holster needs more friction _now_. He grips Ransom’s hips to try and get him to move faster or harder or _something_ but Ransom’s in control and he keeps himself just a touch too far away, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Coach a peewee team on the weekends.”

“Fuck.”

“Go to the goddamn farmer’s market,” he carries on, finally reaching into Holster’s boxers. “Use those recyclable bags that Shitty bought for us.” But it isn’t until Ransom murmurs, “All that cute boyfriend shit,” does Holster lose himself. He drops his head back and moans so filthily as he strokes him that Rans humps forward too. “Needy,” Ransom says.

Yeah he is.

Holster drags Ransom’s hands up to his chest and Ransom’s trails his fingers, rough and dry, across his skin. “Rans,” he croaks.

This is exactly when they hear a key in the lock.

Ransom’s still got his pants on, but because he’s on top he probably has a better chance of escaping. He groans in frustration even though he’s not nearly as hard as Holster is and rolls off of Holster quickly. They have a silent conversation with their eyes as Ransom picks up his shirt. It goes like this.

 _We could tell them?_ We need more time. _And the sin-bin._ True.

Ransom manages one last, sloppy kiss before he books it out of the living room, leaving Holster nearly naked and on his own. Holster barely grabs a pillow in time to hide his boner.  

“Ah!”

It’s just Chowder. They should’ve known. He likes to study here because he’s hoping to run into Farmer on his walk.

“Hey Chowder,” Holster greets. He stretches back, propping his hands up behind his head. Chowder respects Holster, for sure, but he’s also still a little intimidated by him at times. He can work this. “Sup?”

Chowder looks at Holster’s bare chest for a very long time. “Where are your clothes?!”

“On the floor, dude,” Holster answers. If he listens hard enough he can hear the second stairwell creaking, which means Ransom’s in the clear. “You can see them.”

“But why?!”

Holster smirks. “You really wanna know?”

Chowder, it turns out, does not want to know. Holster’s not entirely sure what he would’ve said if he did, and Chowder’s probably assuming the worst, but Ransom isn’t even mentioned so the threat of fines is gone.

When Holster eventually makes it upstairs to the attic, Ransom’s waiting for him on the edge of the bunk. “Fucking finally,” Ransom murmurs, pushing himself to stand. Holster hadn’t bothered putting his shirt back on but his sweatpants are resting low. Ransom’s eyes trail down his chest as he settles his hands on Holster’s hips. “You didn’t say it,” he says.

“Say what?” Holster murmurs.

“Boyfriend. Is _that_ too much?”

“We’re talking about getting fucking married and you think that you calling me your boyfriend is too much?” Holster tosses back. “Rans, c’mon.”

Ransom leans in for a kiss. “Then say it,” Rans pushes.

“God, you’re soft.” Holster reaches up and cups Ransom’s cheek. “I’m your boyfriend,” he says, “and you’re my boyfriend, and we’re going to be totally fucking awesome boyfriends, man.”

Ransom grins. “Going to be?” he wonders. “We already are.”

Too fucking sweet.

* * *

**_Lardo +3_ **

Ransom knows they’re not supposed to be in the equipment room without Lardo but to be completely fair, they’re not actually _taking_ anything, so it will probably be fine.

But they won they won they won and Ransom just wants to kiss his freaking boyfriend.

How they managed to sneak away from their teammates without any of them noticing in the first place is a mystery, but everyone’s so wrapped up in their victory it’s easy to lose track of things. Or people. Or clothes.

Holster’s scruff is rough against Ransom’s throat from his stupid and perfect stubble and Ransom is surprised that he finds himself no longer surprised by things like this. Girls never had stubble. Girls were also never taller than him. Or had hands as rough and big as his. Or pinned him back against the wall so they could suck on his neck.

There’ve been some girls that made Ransom feel hot, obviously, but God nothing like this.

“So fucking good, Rans,” Holster murmurs. “You’re so talented. All that fucking extra practice, bro, you’re insane.”

And then on top of feeling hot, Holster has the audacity to make Ransom blush? Asshole.

“Quit it,” Ransom chastises him, but there’s no heat in it. Ransom didn’t even score, he just had an assist. Which okay--it was actually a pretty epic assist, but still. “That was all Jack, and--”

“Those blocks though?” Holster asks, pulling back. His eyes are shining. “One right after the other!”

“Well what about you?” Ransom pushes back.

“We’re both talented bros,” Holster agrees with a grin. “Just let me talk you up for once.”

“No, dude,” Ransom says with a laugh. “You can’t. It’s weird.”

Holster laughs too. “It’s weird?” he asks.

Ransom’s cheeks are on fire. “I get-- _flustered_ , and--”

Holster kisses him again. “Flustered?” he echoes, incredulous. “Ransy, _flustered_? You got butterflies in your stomach, babe?” Holster’s smiling, both chirping and flirting all at once, and it only makes Ransom blush harder. He kisses him another time, his hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Trying to get all cute on me?”

 _"Quit it_ , Holtz,” Ransom laughs.

Soft dirty talk does stupid things to his heart, okay?

“So you can talk like this but I can’t? No way.” Holster chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Aw, baby, I get you _flustered_? I don’t think I’ve heard anyone use that word since Nursey--”

Ransom clutches Holster’s jersey and tugs him back to him, kissing him deeply. They’re going to the fucking Frozen Four! Enough talking, more celly. They’re smiling into one another’s mouths, Ransom’s hands sliding beneath all of Holster’s layers to be against his skin.

 _Endgame_ , Ransom thinks blissfully.

Ransom knows they can’t go as far as they want here but Holster doesn’t seem to agree. He’s got Ransom’s pants undone and halfway down his hips before he even realizes what’s happening. When Holster takes him into his hand, Ransom groans.

“What’s with you and public spaces?” Ransom chirps, trying to distract himself from how fucking good Holster’s hand feels.

Holster grins. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Ransom tips his chin up for a kiss. “I won’t have sex with you on the ice, man.”

He exhales a laugh in response. “C’mon, Rans, think of how fucking awesome that could be if we planned it right! And you’re great at planning.” Holster’s tug is a little firmer as he carries on, losing himself in the fantasy. “Every time we’d be out there we’d _know_.”

“It’s so dirty, Adam,” Ransom laughs.

Holster’s eyes grow dark.

In a second, Holster’s on his knees, his mouth open for Ransom’s cock. Ransom moans, dropping his head backwards. He was not expecting this. But when Holster goes all out to show his appreciation, he fucking goes all out. He settles into a rhythm, sloppy and wet, and it’s taking all of Ransom’s self restraint to not just fuck Holster’s face. He laps at the underside of Ransom’s cock and tugs at the base and looks up at Rans through his long fucking eyelashes and it’s so good and so hot and--

“ _Holster_ ,” he gasps. “I’m--baby if you--”

Holster pulls off of him with a pop. “Come on, Justin,” he murmurs, twisting him slowly with his slick hand. Somewhere in the haze of his mind Ransom knows what this is about. _Adam. Justin_. If calling his boyfriend by his first name results in this every time, Ransom’s gonna do it _way_ more often. “Come for me.”

Holster’s barely back on his dick when Ransom comes. His eyes fly shut and he groans, all words getting stuck in his throat. His fingers tug at Holster’s hair and he feels Holster hum in approval. When Holster’s finished up, not nearly as messy as Ransom thought it was going to be, he tugs Ransom in for a kiss.

“When we get back to the Haus,” Ransom rasps as he tastes himself on Holster’s tongue, “it’s your turn.”

Holster grins, happily indulging Ransom in some lazy kisses. They’re slow and sweet and now Ransom feels bone tired. He could do this forever.

“I’m just hope you know I’m serious, Rans,” Holster murmurs as they kiss. “That you’re talented. And your hard work pays off, always.”

Ransom manages a smile. He wonders how Holster would react if he said _you make me feel like I’m home._ But he doesn’t, and after a few more lazy kisses they pull back, assessing one another for obvious sex signs, readjusting themselves as need be, before heading back to be with the team.

They haven’t even reached the door before it’s thrown open without precedent. “What the _fuck_ are you guys doing in here?” Lardo demands, marching up to them with her finger pointed. “How long have you been in here? I could fucking sense it! What did you touch?”

“Chill, Lards, we didn’t take anything!”

“We’re not gonna fuck up your room,” Holster agrees. “Just wanted a moment to breathe.”

“We’re in the Four,” Ransom comments. She drops her finger. Ransom belatedly wonders if she can smell it on them, because her face goes neutral. “It’s--”

Lardo raises her hand to stop their excuses. “Yeah,” she says. “I get it. The frogs are losing their minds.”

Holster licks his lips and grins. “Can’t believe you had the audacity to think we would come in here and _take_ things without you. How long have you known us, dude?”

Lardo laughs, finally, because the joy of a win cannot keep a smile from anyone’s face for long.

“We’re not looking for fines,” Ransom adds, because he knows it’ll make Holster laugh. When it does, loud and boisterous, Ransom feels it in his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving her hands. “Damn guys. The Frozen Four!”

“Fucking ‘swawesome,” Ransom agrees. He strides forward, draping his arm over her shoulder, and guiding her out of the equipment room. “We were just heading back. Right Holtzy?”

Holster drops his arm over Lardo’s other shoulder and winks when Ransom catches his eye.

“Let’s get this party started.”

* * *

**_Jack +4_ **

Holster catches a cold, because of course. It’s right after the win that gets them into the Four and in some ways it’s worse than the stomach bug of freshman year that totally screwed over the whole team. Holster is just not meant to get sick.

Ransom expects him to whine a lot, as he’s always whining when he’s _not_ sick, but Holster tends to retreat into himself when his body lets him down. He’s quiet, which is unsettling, and doesn’t even watch 30 Rock when he stays in from class.

He just sleeps and blows his nose and spits loogies into the trash can and drinks an insane amount of Emergen-C. He’s a shell of a person.

“You’ll be okay,” Ransom promises one morning. Holster was up half the night coughing, so Ransom’s pretty tired, but he won’t say anything. Holster looks fucking miserable. “I’ll bring you back some soup.”

“Chicken noodle?” Holster asks quietly.

“You want chicken noodle? Then hell yeah, chicken noodle.”

“You’re too good to me.” Holster smiles weakly. “I love you, Rans,” he says.

Oh.

Oh wow.

Okay.

While Ransom fumbles for a response, his brain turning just a little too slowly and his mouth just a little too dry, Holster slips back into sleep. Ransom’s insides feel like the waves of the ocean crashing against the shore and his fingers are twitchy and _Holster just said that he loves him_.

Not that he hasn’t said it before. He has. Many times.

But not since they started dating, and never so complete. Never a full _I love you,_ always a _love ya man,_ or a _you know I love you_. Not like this, not so warm and sincere and true. Not so easy, so soft.

Ransom dips down and presses a kiss to Holster’s forehead. He almost says it back. _I love you too_. But he wants Holster to be awake to hear it.

And more importantly--he wants to tell his parents.

They still haven’t told the team, though there are definitely some suspicious lingering glances that indicate someone might know more, but they’ve defined it. They’re together. Boyfriends. Committed, monogamous bisexual boyfriends.

(Ransom likes the alliteration when Holster calls him his _big beautiful black bisexual boyfriend_. So much.)

But he wants to tell his parents. Suddenly and urgently and immediately.

He dials his mom’s number on his way out of the Haus.

It… doesn’t go great.

Holster’s sitting up in bed when Ransom gets back, which is new, and he’s got his glasses on instead of miserably squinting into the distance. His hair’s a mess and it’s adorable and he smiles when Rans ducks his head into the room.

“Got your soup,” he says, holding up the plastic bag.

“A hero among men,” Hoster returns with a grin.

They drop to the floor just so Holster can get out of bed and they eat together, Ransom having grabbed something for himself as well, and it’s nice. Holster seems to be on the upswing and the color in his cheeks isn’t all sickly and he doesn’t even stop to cough once during their meal. But even with Holster soft and smiling and returning to himself, Ransom’s distracted.

“You seem out of it,” Holster mentions at one point. “You’re not getting sick, are you? I told you that you should’ve moved in with Bitty while I got better.”

“I’m fine,” Ransom promises. Because of course, even sick, Holster can notice when he’s out of it. “Really.”

It’s not that Ransom doesn’t want to tell him about the phone call home. He does. But Holster’s still sick, so he wants to wait until he’s _really_ better. And then Holster’s better a few days later, and the topic doesn’t get any easier to broach, and Ransom’s still a tangle of knots and nerves.

It isn’t until the end of the week, the two of them sitting on the back porch, does Ransom finally work up the courage to say it.

“So I told my parents,” he says.

Holster whips his head around to look at his boyfriend. “You what? Told them what, about us? I thought--your sisters first, you said--”

“I know, I know,” Ransom cuts him off. “But--I don’t know. I called home Monday.”

Holster laughs brightly. “Ransy!”

God, this is going to hurt. “Mom’s not happy,” he murmurs.

Holster’s smile slips. “What do you mean?”

“I mean--” Ransom’s going to start rambling. “She’s not _not_ happy, you know? She likes you. We already knew that. Ever since I took you home for Christmas all those years ago. But--” Holster reaches out, grabbing his hands. “She thinks I’m just going through a phase. One of those college things, she said.”

“Jesus, Justin,” he exhales. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

Ransom shakes his head and suddenly his eyes feel like they’re burning. Not telling Holster meant he couldn’t tell _anyone_ about his parents because they haven’t told the guys yet. They knew they’d be telling their parents on their own terms but the team was for both of them. So that meant it was just building up inside of him, taller and taller until he was swaying in the wind, ready to topple over at any minute.  

“You were sick,” he rasps, “and then who fucking--who wants to tell their boyfriend that their parents don’t approve?” The sadness in his voice quickly morphs into some sort of quasi-anger, hot and wet and heavy. “It’s--bullshit, Holtz! I mean I look at you and I know how I feel and--” he turns, looking up at him.

Holster. His boyfriend.

But Holster’s so much more than that. He’s Ransom’s best friend, the person he trusts more than anyone in the world. When Ransom panics, Holster soothes him. When Ransom wants to celebrate good news, he wants to share it with Holster. He wakes up wanting to tell Holster about his dreams, he goes to sleep wanting Holster beside him.

“You said she’s not _not_ happy,” Holster encourages quietly. He’s holding a lot of tension in his jaw but he’s trying not to furrow his eyebrows, leaving him looking tense. “It can be a lot all at once. Maybe she’ll come around.”

Ransom yanks his hands out of Holster’s and pushes himself from the porch so he can pace.

“She shouldn’t have to come around,” he snaps. Ransom’s caught somewhere between frustration and grief and isn’t sure which one he wants to let in more. “Your mom won’t need to! Your whole family--”

“Hey,” Holster cuts him off a little sharply. “Careful now.”

“I just don’t know why she doesn’t understand,” he carries on, getting louder. Holster glances over his shoulder toward the Haus as though thinking of all of the guys inside, steps away from overhearing. “They’d get it,” Ransom says, jerking his head to the house. “The team.”

Holster stands slowly. “They’re the team. They _know_ us as us. Your mom, Rans, that’s--”

“It doesn’t matter who,” Ransom cuts him off, his voice getting louder. “When I tell her that I love someone that’s supposed to matter! That’s supposed to be more important than anything else!”

Holster’s face softens. “Ransy,” he whispers.

Something inside of Ransom shatters. He steps toward Holster, already stepping toward him, and they wrap themselves around one another as though they’re the only semblance of a steady ground they’ve ever had. Ransom breathes in the man he loves and lets himself be held.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps.

“No, no, no,” Holster shushes him. “No way, baby. Fucking brave as hell, telling them like that.”

“No,” Ransom manages, his voice rough, the sadness louder than the anger now. “That they--”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Holster says, “it’ll be okay.”

Ransom believes him.

He peels back so he can look Holster in the eye. “You said that you love me,” he says. Holster’s mouth quirks into a hesitant but warm smile.

“When?”

“Monday. Before I went to class. And it made me want to tell them. Because I love you too.”

Holster drops his forehead to Ransom’s. “Justin,” he exhales happily, and it’s the best sound that Ransom’s ever heard in his entire life. “That’s why you told them?”

“Is that not good enough of a reason?” Ransom murmurs back.

Holster kisses him so gently that it makes Ransom feel like the most beloved person to ever exist. His hands on Ransom’s cheeks, fingertips against his skin, nose against nose. They share one another’s breath, one another’s space.

“I thought you knew,” Holster whispers. “Of course I love you, I always have.”

“ _I love you_.”

The Haus is a blessing, as it creaks loudly while someone traverses toward the backdoor, the noise carrying in the quiet afternoon every step of the way. Holster’s eyes say things that they don’t have time for. Something about a future that they both deserve. Something about a comfort that is bone deep and endless. Something about having one another, always.

They pull apart just in time to watch their Captain emerge, a worried eyebrow arched.

“I heard shouting,” Jack says. Holster smiles sweetly and it makes Ransom feel more grounded than he has all week. He wants to reach out and tangle his fingers with Holster’s, squeeze tight. But he doesn’t. He stands tall, takes a step away. “You two okay out here?”

“We’re good, Jack,” Holster says. “Phenomenal, even.”

Ransom elbows him a little. “Totally ‘swawesome,” he agrees.

“It sounded tense,” Jack says, skeptical. He looks a little nervous, even. “My window was open,” he adds.

Ransom doesn’t tense like he thinks he might’ve earlier. He doesn’t know what Jack overheard, but he’s not sure that he’ll mind no matter what it is.

“I came out to my parents,” Ransom says before Holster can leap in, making up a story without even thinking about it. Instead, Holster reaches out, grabbing Ransom’s hand. “It didn’t go as great as I’d hoped.”

Jack’s face shifts in surprise and his lips part. “I’m sorry to hear that, Rans,” he says. His eyes grow sad, and Ransom knows that he’s got Jack on his side. Absolutely always. But Jack’s never been the best at getting it all out, so the fact that he doesn’t automatically start stuttering is impressive. “Anything I can do for you? Or that the team can?”

“I’ll let you know, but I think I’m good. Just need some time. Thanks, bro.”

“Always.”

“Yeah.”

Jack’s eyes shift to Holster and then they soften. “You’re in good hands,” Jack says.

“I know,” Ransom responds. Holster squeezes his fingertips.

* * *

**_Bitty +5_ **

Ransom slept in his own bunk last night because Holster had to “get a good night of sleep” for his test the next day, but Holster really thinks that he would’ve slept better with his boyfriend beside him. The bunk is small, and sometimes it’s cramped when they’re smushed together, but Holster loves it.

Still, Rans was insistent, so Holster slept alone last night. He thinks it might be because Ransom gets a morning to sleep in for once, and maybe he doesn’t want to go through all of the untangling that always has to happen when they sleep side by side.

Not wanting to wake him, Holster’s extra quiet as he leaves the next morning. He made sure his bag was prepared the night before and that his clothes were mostly set out and that his glasses were in reach. He doesn’t even turn the light on, which is impressive, and makes it down the stairs without hearing any noise from the top bunk.

That’s because, Holster learns as he makes his way through the Haus, Ransom is already awake, in the kitchen.

Holster pauses in the walkway. Something smells really fucking good and it makes his stomach grumble. Which is distracting on its own. But also his boyfriend is shirtless, for some reason, and Holster’s not going to complain but it’s definitely a lot to take in before he’s really even awake.

“Rans?” he asks.

Ransom at the stove glances over his shoulder. His face lights up with a sleepy smile and it makes Holster’s stomach flip like a pancake in a pan. “Morning,” he greets.

“Whatcha doing?” Holster asks, slowly walking toward him. He swings his bag off of his shoulder and places it on the table. Instead of answering, Ransom pushes the eggs around the pan. “Are you... cooking me breakfast?” Holster prompts.

“It’s just you’ve got that test,” Ransom answers with a bit of a shrug. “And I know you’re stressed about it bro, so I thought...” he trails off and Holster’s heart swells in his chest.

He crosses the kitchen to Ransom quickly and winds his arms around his waist. “ _Rans_ ,” he murmurs, but he sounds so unbelievably happy that he’s sure Ransom can hear it in his voice.

“Don’t distract me,” Ransom responds, but Holster can hear him smiling.

Holster mouths his way across Ransom’s shoulder and grins against his neck when Ransom shivers. “You didn’t do yourself any favors being shirtless,” Holster tells him.

“You’re right. I’m doing you the favor.” Holster laughs wildly. He nuzzles into Ransom’s neck and nips at his skin. “Just because you’re two inches taller than me doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m small,” Rans manages, but his voice is rough.

“I’m treating you like your small?” Holster asks. Ransom just grunts when Holster sucks hard against his collarbone. “Those two inches just went somewhere else,” Holster murmurs, and Ransom exhales a laugh. “Won’t find me complaining.”

Ransom nudges Holster with his elbow so he can turn toward him. They both lean in, their lips meeting, and Holster warms at once. His and Ransom’s mouths just fit so well together, wet and soft and then careful perfect tongue. He sighs and Ransom smiles and Holster feels a little lightheaded.

“You’re gonna make me burn your food, babe,” Ransom says as they part, but he really doesn’t care.

Holster can’t wait to do this every day for the rest of his life.

He’s thinking about that as he pushes Ransom back against the counter, the food still sizzling on the stove. An apartment in a city with just the two of them. Early mornings eating food straight out of the pan it was cooked in. One of them or the other perched on the countertop trying to steal kisses until they realize that it’s too high, too awkward, before they slip back to the floor, laughing against one another’s mouth. He’s thinking about afternoons in bed with the sunlight streaming through the window, and evenings on the couch eating takeout, and his best friend and his love by his side forever.

“Love you,” Holster murmurs, and Ransom kisses the smile between them. “It’s insane, Ransy.”

“Hmm? What is?” They share another kiss. “You and me?”

“No, just how _much_ it is.”

Ransom laughs in a way that makes Holster start thinking about that future of theirs again.

He’s content to do this all morning, to skip his test and make out with Ransom until his lips fall off. But the Haus stirs, and the food smokes, and Ransom manages one last soft kiss before he pushes away to finish cooking--just in time for Bitty to enter the kitchen.

He visibly startles at them, whether it be their closeness to one another that’s throwing him off or the fact that they’re in the kitchen so early, Holster can’t be sure.

“Hey guys,” Bitty greets. “It’s not even eight, you two feeling okay?”

Holster chuckles at he settles down at the table.

“Holtz has a test,” Ransom explains. “I didn’t think a granola bar would cut it, and I knew he wouldn’t make something for himself, so…”

“Aw.” Bitty smiles, holding his hands up to his heart. “That’s so sweet! You two are just the best to each other.” He turns to where Ransom is haphazardly using a spatula to scramble some eggs, and his face shifts a little, but he’s still smiling. “Strange to see you in my kitchen, but…”

Holster laughs again. “It’s not your kitchen, Bits.”

Bitty tips his head to the side. “If you’re seriously trying to tell me that before I came into the Haus, Ransom would’ve been able to wake up on any given day and just _cook breakfast_ for you with ease, then you are _vastly mistaken_ Adam Birkholtz.”

Both Holster and Ransom throw their heads back with laughter. “Okay, okay,” Holster says surrendering. “You’re right, Bitty. It is your kitchen.”

Ransom cracks another egg for Bitty and makes enough for the three of them. Holster has to eat a little faster than his friends but it’s a morning that brings him comfort and ease. By the time he’s sprinting to class to make it to his test on time, Holster isn’t sure that he could be happier.

He passes the test with flying colors.

* * *

**_Nursey -1_ **

Holster’s asleep when Nursey knocks on the attic door.

It’s not often that the other guys make the trek up the attic stairs. The stairwell is small and every step creaks and it’s just Holster and Ransom’s room, nothing that other people need access to. So that must mean he’s actually looking for one of them when he pokes his head into the room.

“Holtz?” Nursey asks quietly. Holster blinks himself awake. He came home from a brutal meeting with his professor about his grades and Holster immediately passed out in bed. It was late morning then, and the lighting outside is still golden which means it must be afternoon. “Hey, sorry to wake you, man.”

“S’fine,” Holster manages. He reaches up to rub his eyes. “Sup, Nurse?”

“It’s Rans,” he says.

Holster’s on his feet at once.

He follows Nursey quickly through the Haus, down to the living room, where Ransom is sitting on the couch with a scary blank expression on his face. His foot is bouncing and his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks pale, but uninjured.

“I know you always say to leave him alone and let him process on his own,” Nursey comments, taking a step back. “Coral reef, and all. But this felt different, I don’t know.”

Holster stoops down in front of him. “Hey, Rans?” Ransom’s eyes shift to his as though just realizing that Holster’s here and they grow wet at once. “Hey, hey--”

Ransom throws himself forward, burying his face in Holster’s neck. Holster lets himself be pulled on the couch, practically on top of his boyfriend, and he can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that Nursey’s still here, waiting and watching to make sure that Ransom’s okay.

Ransom is fucking trembling.

“I don’t know what happened,” he starts saying, his voice scratchy and tight as he grips Holster’s shirt to keep himself grounded. “Talked to my advisor today about graduating and it freaked me the fuck out, I feel like I can’t think straight.”

“That’s still so far away, man,” Holster says softly. “We’ve got all of next year.”

“Yeah I know that,” Ransom rasps. He’s talking a million miles an hour. “But I was thinking of the team and Jack and Shitty graduating and leaving us and then what happens after that, Holster? They’re going to fucking leave and then there’s just us. What are we supposed to do? Where do we go from there?”

“We’ll figure it out together,” Holster reminds him, unsure if he’s talking about the team or college in general or just the two of them. Ransom takes in a sharp breath. “Justin,” he whispers. Holster pulls back a touch so he can cup his boyfriend’s cheek, force him to look at him, but it’s hesitant. “Baby, hey. Breathe with me.” Ransom pulls out of Holster’s hold and drops his forehead against Holster’s shoulder. Holster grabs Ransom’s hand, tugging until it’s resting on his own chest, over Holster’s heart. “Breathe with me,” he says again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s shaky at first but Ransom does his best to match Holster’s breathing.

He’s not sure what Ransom’s worried most about so he just keeps talking, stroking his back and whispering softly about how of course Jack and Shitty are graduating but they’ll always have the group chat, and no _way_ are they going to disappear completely. And he talks about their senior year and all of the kegsters they’re going to throw. And he talks about all the cool shit they’ll get to do with Lardo, like her senior art show, and late night trips to get fro-yo with her and Bitty just because they can. And then he tells Ransom about how, med school or not, Holster’s going where he goes. No question about it.

Finally, Ransom pulls back again, and Holster cups his cheek a second time.

“I’m okay,” Ransom insists. Holster traces his thumb gently over Ransom’s jaw. “Jesus. That came out of fucking nowhere. Sorry, Holtzy.”

“Never be,” Holster returns.

The floorboards creak. Nursey is still here.

They both seem to realize this at once. Holster drops his hand and glances over his shoulder and Ransom’s cheeks heat up. “Uh, thanks Nurse,” Holster manages. “For--”

“It’s chill,” Nursey says, but he’s smiling, because after that he’s _got_ to know. “Just as long as Rans is okay, yeah?”

Ransom smiles too, warm, and it makes Holster’s entire chest burn like hot ash. “I’m good,” Ransom insists. “Thanks, man.”

When Nursey finally leaves them alone, Rans cups both of Holster’s cheeks and tugs him in for a kiss that Holster’s sure is meant to be quick. But Holster fucking loves this man, he’s never been more sure of it, so when Ransom pulls away he chases his lips. Ransom smiles into it and so does Holster and they’re both such wide smiles that it’s barely even a kiss anymore.

“Nursey totally knows,” Holster whispers in the space between them.

Ransom laughs. “Sorry bro. Is that okay?”

“He didn’t say shit about fines so _hell_ yeah.” Ransom laughs again and Holster feels it in his stomach. “It’s chill, remember?”

“Chill,” Ransom echoes with a grin. He kisses Holster another time, maybe just because he can, and Holster doesn’t let him pull too far away again. Instead he presses his forehead to Ransom’s and meets his gaze. “I’m really okay,” Ransom says. “I’ve got you.”

Holster wishes he could tell Ransom how fucking happy those three soft words make him. He feels bright and warm and safe and understood and he’s not even the one who had the panic attack.

“We should tell the guys,” he says. Ransom’s face lights up. “Really. Seriously. For serious this time. After the season,” Holster adds. “Fines are fine I mean--fucking whatever, Ransy, but the chirping on the ice? God, don’t make me.”

Ransom laughs and Holster prefers this immensely over the tension from minutes ago. Ransom deserves all of the joy and absolutely none of the stress. “You don’t think we could handle it?” he wonders.

“We totally could,” Holster says. “But do we need to give them the satisfaction?”

Ransom dips in for another kiss. “After the season,” he agrees brightly.

“Keep them guessing,” Holster adds.

“They’re not blind, babe,” Rans says with a laugh. “They _know_.”

“But we haven’t told them.”

And that’s the truth of it, really. That maybe they’ve been at the tail end of getting caught too many times that they really _have_ been caught. But the guys--whether they know or not--aren’t going to say anything until Holster and Ransom say something first. It’s a privacy thing, a respect thing, and… fine, maybe they’ve been taking advantage of that.

“Once the season’s over,” Ransom agrees warmly.

* * *

**_Dex -2_ **

With the year coming to an end, and Shitty and Jack talking more often about graduating, the frogs spend more time at the Haus in an attempt to get some dibs. Holster and Ransom have been thinking about who they want to give their room to eventually, but they haven’t decided yet. Besides, they still have one more year.

Still, they should know that means they have less privacy than usual.

They’re in the basement now, folding their laundry together, because what’s the point of doing two separate loads when they just wear each other’s shit all the time anyway. They might’ve filled it _a bit too much_ but their clothes still smell clean, so they’re rolling with it.

“My mom called me yesterday,” Ransom casually slips into the conversation, and Holster pauses midway folding a shirt.

“Yeah?”

“She wants you to visit this summer,” he says.

Holster grips the shirt in his hands a little tighter. “Yeah?” he says again.

They haven’t talk about Ransom’s family, really, since that afternoon that Jack interrupted them. Ransom sat by Holster’s side as he came out to his own family over Skype, and Ransom said that their joy and excitement and acceptance was enough to help him through as well. But Holster knew that wasn’t true. Rans wanted his _own_ parents, his own family to be excited about the two of them together.

“My sisters have been doing work on them, apparently,” Ransom says with a soft smile. “And she seemed okay when I talked to her, my mom.” Holster drops the shirt so he can cross to him.

Holster isn’t sure that he’s ever felt happier. “ _Rans_ ,” he exhales, like he always does when he’s overwhelmed by this man that he loves so fucking much. “That’s so--God, I knew she’d come around, man!”

Ransom’s grinning like he can’t even believe it. “It’s not--I mean, we’ve still got to talk in person. But…” he trails off, resting his hands on Holster’s hips. “I’m really hopeful. I feel really good.”

“I’m so goddamn happy for you,” Holster whispers.

“So you’ll come?” Ransom asks.

“Dude obviously I am going to come!”

Ransom drops whatever it is that he was holding too and then they’re wrapped up in one another, Ransom with his face buried in Holster’s neck, Holster’s arms around his back. They breathe one another in in this space. Stale pipes and fresh detergent and _them_.

They’re still wound in one another when Holster starts talking. “Your parents already love me,” he hums happily. “Your sisters too. I just need to show them that I’m not only a rocking best bro, but also an incredible boyfriend.”

“And you already are,” Ransom agrees, the words coming out against Holster’s throat.

“And I already am,” Holster echoes, “so it’ll be easy! I’ll research even more about Canada so I’ve got some stuff on the back burner and--”

Rans pulls back so he can lean up and kiss him. “You don’t need to research Canada,” Ransom says with a laugh as he pulls back. He looks just as happy as Holster feels. “You can walk in with the stuff you already have in your brain and it’ll be perfect.”

“Sap,” Holster tosses back.

“Yeah,” Ransom agrees. He leans up those extra two inches to kiss him again and Holster kisses him back.

“Tell me more,” he murmurs.

Ransom smirks and turns, pressing Holster back against the empty washing machine. “You’ve got some weird kinks, dude.”

Holster tugs him closer. “Rans.”

“They’ll probably want us to sleep in different beds,” Ransom tells him, feeling him over his sweatpants. “Freak out a little when they remember we share a room all year long.” Holster snorts but he can’t stop smiling. He loves Ransom’s parents, they’ve always made him feel like part of the family, and despite the reluctance to it he’s sure that it’s going to be okay. He wants to see how they treat him differently, how they treat the pair of them. “Press you on your intentions.”

“My intentions?” Holster asks with a laugh. “Is this 1950?”

“They can be old fashioned,” Ransom tells him. He slips his hands over Holster’s hips and under his shirt until they’re past the elastic band, resting against his skin. “Don’t you ever tell them anything about how much sex we have.”

Holster cackles and Ransom grins, squeezing Holster’s ass firmly as he leans in for another kiss. Because it’s Sunday he hasn’t bothered to put on any boxers and Rans doesn’t seem to care, pressing him harder against the washing machine, humping forward and grabbing tightly, and Holster’s going to come without Ransom even touching his dick.

“Why do you think that’s a thing I would want to talk about with your parents?” Holster manages.

“Sometimes you don’t think before you talk,” Ransom says carefully. “Which is fine. You have great thoughts, babe!” Holster scoffs while Ransom peppers his neck with warm kisses. “But is it possible for you to get nervous and blurt out wrong things? Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Holster eventually agrees.

“But it’ll be fine,” Ransom carries on, easing up his grip on Holster’s ass so he can sink down in front of him. “You’ll be perfect,” Ransom says, tugging Holster’s sweats down. “They’ll love you more than they already do.”

Holster tips his head to the side, his eyes darting up the nearby stairs, and he half-wonders if he should remind Ransom where they are. But they’re in the goddamn _basement_ and it’s so hot and Holster’s so hard so no way in _hell_ is he going to say anything.

“As long as I’ve got you I don’t care what they think,” Holster manages, gripping the edge of the washing machine.

Ransom takes him in his hand. “I want them to like us,” he comments. He strokes Holster slowly and Holster groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Then they’ll love us together babe,” Holster exhales, his voice a few pitches too high. “I’ll make sure of it.” Ransom’s eyes dart up and he grins again before taking Holster into his mouth. Holster grips the machine harder with one hand and reaches down with the other, firm against the back of Ransom’s head. “Christ, fuck, Rans.”

The danger of getting blowjobs in the basement is that anyone can come down and catch you there. And typically, Holster would think his brain is capable of realizing when someone is coming down the stairs. The Haus is old and loud. People are often louder.

But Ransom’s mouth is on his dick and he’s thinking about making a good impression on the parents of the man that he loves and Holster’s glasses are sliding down his face and Ransom is getting sloppy and--

“ _Holy--!”_

Dex.

Lots of things are happening at once but all that Holster’s really aware of is that he’s groaning out _Justin_ and then he’s coming and his knees are buckling and someone’s stumbling up the stairs muttering a lot of distant profanity and then he maybe grays out and then Rans is there, laughing into his mouth, kissing him to bring his attention back to the present.

“Fucking Dex, man,” Ransom says, and Holster manages a laugh. “I blame you for this.”

“Me!”

“Mm-hm.” Ransom kisses him again and Holster can feel how hard he is. But they’re definitely going to need to finish this upstairs. “You and your public spaces kink.”

“You started this!”

Ransom is laughing into the next few kisses and helps Holster pull his sweats back up over his hips. “Let me finish it,” Holster hums. He feels drowsy and warm and the fact that Dex walked in on them only makes him want to laugh. “Laundry. Then attic.”

They hurry to fold the rest of their clothes, which is mostly pointless seeing is they cooled down from sitting in the dryer too long and gained their wrinkles, before rushing upstairs. They take the stairs two at a time, running into Dex when they reach the top. His ears are the same color as his hair and Holster feels _a little_ bad, but not really.

“Washer’s free,” Ransom comments as they pass.

“Give a guy some warning next time,” Dex grits out, marching toward the basement in a huff. “Could’ve saved us both some dignity.”

“Sorry, Dex!” Holster calls.

“Don’t wanna hear it!”

Holster laughs, chasing Ransom up the rest of the Haus to the attic.

* * *

**_The Team -3_ **

It’s the last game of the Frozen Four and Holster and Ransom have never been more in sync. But their easy and confident rhythm is set off balance by the level of stress that is carried in this game. It’s Jack and Shitty’s last game with Samwell, Samwell’s last game of the year.

Holster wants to win.

He wants to win so much. He wants to win for their team. He wants to win for himself. He wants to win for Ransom. He wants to tell their team like this:

A score. A celly. Yanking Ransom’s helmet from his head and kissing him on the ice where everyone can see.

It gets him through, minute by minute, play by play. But it’s the final game and everyone is playing like it. The chirps are brutal, the checking rougher. They’re nearing the end of it when Holster thinks they have a chance.

But then there’s a shove and a whip and a puck.

And then--

“ _Holster!”_

He blacks out.

When he wakes, his face hurts. It takes a moment for the sound to return. It’s fizzy at first, then a piercing whine, then whistles and shouting and cheering all on top of each other. Voices go in and out and the ice is cold but his face is burning and something is spinning and something is wrong.

Holster’s never been hit in the face with a puck like this. Something’s got to be broken.

His stomach heaves and his helmet moves and his limbs are weak and--

 _Ransom_. He’s there and he’s blurry and he’s beautiful, saying something soft or something worried that Holster still can’t hear.

“...talk to me, _Adam…_ Holtzy. C’mon, hey, hey…”

“Rans,” he exhales.

Ransom puffs out a laugh. Before either of them can say anything else Ransom’s shoved aside and Holster tries to speak but it’s dark again.

The next time he really comes to he’s on the benches and there are doctors with flashlights and gauze and Lardo is there worrying her bottom lip and Ransom is sitting at his side. Somewhere as his brain starts up again Holster thinks about the play, wondering about the score, wondering why Ransom’s not still on the ice. When Holster twitches his fingers, he realizes Ransom’s holding his hand.

He’s got worry-lines on his face, his forehead wrinkled and his eyebrows tugged together. Holster wants to say that he’s okay but his mouth still isn’t working, and he’s not sure his brain is really working either. But Ransom’s still here and he’s still holding his hand and Holster thinks that means everything is going to be okay.

Almost as if knowing what he’s thinking, Ransom leans in.

“You’re gonna be fine, Holtzy,” he murmurs. “You didn’t even lose any of your big beautiful teeth, okay?”

“Okay,” Holster manages. His brain is still stumbling. He remembers his name, soft, and it warms him from the fall. “Justin.”

Ransom’s face lights with a smile at once, though his eyebrows are still worried. “Adam,” he whispers back. They’re not just holding hands, their fingers are threaded together. “Let’s take it easy, okay?” Holster nods and Ransom tugs his hand up, kissing his knuckles. “I’m here.”

Holster has to get some stitches, and his nose is broken so they have to pop it back into place which is fucking brutal, but he’s fine. He could _probably_ go back on the ice once the confusion and disorientation fades.

But the game ends, and they lose, and they’ve lost the Frozen Four just like that. Their season is over and they aren’t winners.

To put it simply, it fucking sucks. To already feel so physically broken and then have your spirit take a punch right to the gut right after is not the way to go. But they drag themselves off the ice to the locker room, all of the guys quiet. People are pissed and exhausted and Jack just straight up fucking disappears. All Holster wants to do is get home and curl up in bed beside his boyfriend.

“I just can’t believe it’s fucking over!” Shitty announces after their coaches say some words.

Some of the guys murmur their agreements and Holster sighs. “We played a great season,” Holster says. “We had ‘swawesome leaders and better plays and while I’d prefer to not get hit in the fucking face again, I don’t think I’d do anything too different.”

Ransom grins beside him. He reaches up, resting his hand on Holster’s shoulder. “Me neither,” he agrees.

“Like--Rans, all those blocks this season were incredible.”

“You flatter me, Holtzy,” Ransom says with a grin.

“And Dex,” Holster carries on, feeling oddly inspirational and sentimental. “Remember that quick thinking you had earlier? That pass to Ollie?”

Dex blushes. “That was just--”

“We have each other’s backs, bro,” Holster stops him. “Tango your fucking plays! And Chowder, those saves of yours. Especially in this last game!” The guys are all starting to crowd around Ransom and Holster now, seated on the bench together. “Just--man, I’m fucking proud of all of us.”

His team is mostly smiling again, looking at him with softness in their eyes. “You’re right, brah,” Shitty says, plopping down on the bench beside him and draping his arm over his shoulder. “We’re fucking great!”

Holster grins. “Hell yeah we are.”

Shitty takes that as his invitation to a pep talk as one of their graduating seniors, and off he goes about the strides they made on and off the court as both players of Samwell hockey and as men. Jack returns at some point in the middle of it, Bitty right behind him, and they all settle in to hear some words from their departing captain.

Holster sighs. His face hurts, and he’s tired, but he feels content. He turns, resting his head on Ransom’s shoulder, and sighs again when Ransom rests his arm around his waist.

“I wish we won,” Holster murmurs, quiet enough that only Ransom can hear.

Ransom exhales softly. “We kinda did, Holtzy.” When Holster looks up at his boyfriend, meeting his eyes, he wants to kiss him more than anything.

But Holster’s nose is broken and he _can’t_ and so halfway through Jack’s speech about friendship and unity Holster blurts, “We’re dating!” The room falls silent, everyone turning to look at them. “Ransom and me,” he elaborates, gesturing between them. “Each other.”

“That’s what Rans said, yeah,” Jack says, his smile growing. “When we were getting you off the ice?”

Ransom’s face is red but Holster’s confused. “What, today?”

“Like an hour ago, Holtz,” Bitty agrees, beaming.

“Got all-- _be careful with that man I love him and would die for him!_ ” Shitty adds.

Ransom elbows him. “That is not what I said.”

“Close enough,” Lardo says.

Everyone sort of starts murmuring in agreement, noting different times when they’d suspected _before_ tonight about the two of them, or the times that they’d actually been _sure_ , but Holster scoffs. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Wait a minute, this happened when I got hit with the puck just now?”

“I panicked!” says Rans. “You got hit and then you were kind of out of it and the words were just there, man.”

“It’s chill,” Nursey says from where he stands. “We love you, dudes.”

Chowder nods eagerly beside him. “For real!”

“For sure,” Dex says. “But can we back-date for fines? Because I have seen some stuff that would produce _quite_ a lot of money that I never want to--”

“Okay!” Bitty says loudly, clapping as to draw attention away from the two of them. Holster’s face feels hot but Ransom’s hand is still warm on his back. “It looks like this night wasn’t a total failure. What do y’all say we head back and have a celebration of our own?”

Jack rests his hand gently on the small of Bitty’s back. “Sounds good, Bits.”

Sounds good, indeed.

* * *

**_C +1_ **

Waiting for Holster’s broken nose to heal is a pain in the ass, but they find ways around it. It’s easier, now that the guys know, and they don’t get nearly as many fines as they thought they would.

But it isn’t right until their end of year banquet is Holster given the okay from the doctor.

When Ransom kisses him, so much longer after they told everyone that they’re together, it’s like a celly all on it’s own. Holster smiles into it and Ransom smiles into it and Bitty walks in on them, clicking his tongue but looking happy for them.

“Now I know it’s been a long time since you got to do that so I won’t say anything about the sin bin,” Bitty says quietly, but happily.

Holster winks. “Thanks Bits.”

Ransom can’t stop looking at Holster without the tape on his nose. He’s been wearing his contacts a lot because it hurt to perch his glasses on top of the mess but he has them on now, and Ransom’s missed this look. They spend the afternoon getting ready for the banquet, talking about who would make a better captain, trading kisses whenever they have to walk past one another. They fix one another’s ties and straighten one another’s jackets and make their way to the banquet, surprisingly on time.

“Whatever happens,” Ransom says as they get ready for the announcement, “the boys’ll make the right choice.”

“Well I know who I voted for,” Holster tosses back.

And when _Adam Birkholtz_ is read out, Ransom’s not even disappointed. Excitement rushes over him in waves and he turns, grabbing Holster’s shoulder.

“See--!”

And then his own name is read, _Justin Oluransi_ , by a split vote, and Ransom’s only shaken from the shock of it when Holster turns to him.

They fist-bump because it’s totally not appropriate to make out in a formal setting like this and they’re trying to spare the coaches, but later, when Jack gives them the keys to the locker room, they really get to celebrate.

It’s late and they’re alone and they stroll around in the dim lighting, looking at everything like they haven’t seen it before, before they stumble into the player’s lounge hand in hand. “I can’t believe we’re captains,” Ransom murmurs, glancing around the room they’ve sat in a million times before like it was brand new.

“You and me,” Holster agrees. He tugs Ransom toward him, leaning down for a kiss. “But to be fair I always knew it was going to be you.”

Ransom snorts. “They called your name first, Holtz.”

“Scared the shit out of me, Rans. I wouldn’t want to be captain without you.” Ransom shakes his head but indulges Holster when he leans in for another kiss.

They could talk in circles about who deserved to be captain over the other but they really don’t need to, seeing as it doesn’t matter. They’re co-captains now, on the court and off the court, and decisions from them are made together. They’re not entirely sure what’s next, with Jack and Shitty leaving, but Ransom knows that he and Holster are going to figure it out.

Holster tugs Ransom onto the couch, pulling him mostly onto his lap, and they cup one another’s cheeks.

“This is perfect,” Holster says.

“I know, I always knew that--”

“You’re about to go in a way different direction than me,” Holster stops him with a laugh. “We’re in the player’s lounge, dude, and we’re the only people with access to it!” Ransom can’t help but roll his eyes, but Holster’s beaming, and it’s not a look that Ransom can stay mad at for long. “No one to interrupt us in this pretty public space,” Holster elaborates. “Best of both worlds!”

“Yeah, babe, I knew what you were getting at.”

He doesn’t object when Holster scrambles to get their shirts off and even helps him along by kicking off his shoes before they can get to their pants. He’ll give Holster this tonight because they’re co-captains, because he loves him, because it _is_ kind of hot even though he’ll never admit it to Holster.

“It’s perfect just because it’s us,” Holster eventually says when they’re down in just their socks and boxers, trapped against one another on the couch. “I didn’t mean to sound--”

“No, I know,” Ransom stops him with a little laugh. “I know.”

“And this couch gets regularly cleaned unlike the one in the Haus,” Holster adds. “Which just makes it even better.”

“It does,” Ransom agrees.

He wants to rid Holster of his boxers but before he can, he stops him.

“Hey, I never asked,” Holster says. “What happened?” he asks softly, tracing his fingers lightly over Ransom’s chest. “When I got hit. What’d you say? That the team knew we were together.”

Ransom feels his face burn. “They’re exaggerating,” Ransom tells him.

“Tell me what you said,” Holster pushes with a smile.

“Jack wanted me to keep playing,” Ransom says, remembering, “and I kind of elbowed him off--”

“No you didn’t,” Holster laughs.

“You were more out of it than you should’ve been! I was worried!” Holster’s hand fans out and slowly slides up Ransom’s chest. “And I said,” he carries on quietly, “that I was going with my boyfriend whether he liked it or not.”

Holster’s face lights up. “Awww, Rans!”

Ransom leans in. “I love you, Adam,” he tells him seriously.

Holster catches his cheek. “Justin,” he returns, intentionally, smiling, beaming like he’s made of sunshine. “I love you too.”

They kiss some more before stripping down completely. He lets Holster take them both into his hands and stroke them to a release, the two of them alone together in the player’s lounge, co-captains and best friends and boyfriends, a mess on one another’s stomach. Their kisses grow lazy and slow and Holster murmurs something soft about showering off while they’ve still got their wits about them.

It feels hilarious and risky as they dart naked to the showers and, still sleepily, they rinse off under the spray and make out against the wall.

They have another year of this.

“I’ll drive us to the Haus,” Holster murmurs after they’ve redressed. “You look tired, Rans.”

He reaches out, grabbing Holster’s hand, and twists their fingers together until they’re holding each other close. “Thanks, Holtzy,” Ransom murmurs back.

They walk hand in hand to the car, kiss a little more against the side, and then climb in.

Holster hums along to the radio under his breath and Ransom tries not to fall asleep on the drive and he’s just so _happy_ and _loved_ that he can feel it in every bone in his body.  

They did it. They survived the past few months of secrets and sneaking around, of hidden kisses and quiet moans, of being together in the dark.

Now they get to do it in the light.

They’ve just got to get a little bit better at choosing where.

**Author's Note:**

> in C there's a few quotes directly from the comic! not my words, all ngozi.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @madgesundersee or twitter @wholesomeholsom i need more check please friends


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